


Scaretale

by locusdesperatus



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locusdesperatus/pseuds/locusdesperatus
Summary: Leon tries to take a break after the incident in New York, but his night is interrupted by a stranger whose actions trigger some of his darkest thoughts.His life just keeps getting worse.Please heed the tags.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Other(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Scaretale

He'd fucking missed the toilet.

Leon fell backwards, managing to catch himself before he slammed his head into the wall. The sudden movement had him gagging all over again, clutching his stomach.

"Fuck."

As he gasped for breath, he slumped onto the floor, carefully avoiding the puddle of vomit. He was taking a tolerance break, proving to himself that he could do it, and had only ordered a few beers when he went to the dingy little bar down the street. The puke wasn't because of the alcohol. No, that would've been too predictable, too _normal_ to fit into his shitty fucking life.

He'd called it quits around two in the morning, putting on his helmet and straddling his bike in order to go for a late night ride. He'd needed to cool his head, still reeling from the incident in New York. Instead of circling the city for an hour or two, he was cut short by blue and red flashing lights. 

He scoffed as he pulled over and put down his kickstand. He wasn't even drunk.

"Good evening, sir." The cop sauntered over, one hand on his taser. Overzealous. Leon felt his face knit itself into a scowl.

"Evening." He said.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" 

"No." Leon's eyes snapped down to the officer's name badge. It read "M. Hughes".

"You were drifting over the centerline. Have you been drinking tonight?"

"I had a few beers, but that was a couple hours ago."

"Hm. Licence and registration." 

Leon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, pissed that he was being bothered. God damn it, why couldn't people just leave him alone. He got out the little cards, handing them over. The cop looked them up and down, then tucked them into a strap on his pad of ticket paper. That wasn't good.

"I'd like to run some field sobriety tests on you, sir."

"Fine." Leon tried to keep his face straight as he carefully stood up. He removed his helmet, setting it down on his seat before looking up.

"Hold your arm straight out to the side for me. Close your eyes. Now touch your fingertips to your nose, please." Officer Hughes droned. "Good. Without moving your head, keep your eyes on my finger."

He waved it back and forth in front of Leon's face, watching his eyes move.

"Good. Stand on the white line. Keep your head up and walk in a straight line."

Leon grit his teeth, but obeyed, placing one foot neatly in front of the other. He turned, expecting to be set on his way, but was met with the sight of the cop scribbling on the ticket.

"What?" He hissed out before he could stop himself. "I'm fine, and you know it."

"Not in my opinion, Mr. Kennedy." Hughes said. "I'm afraid your bike has to be impounded. I saw the other ID in your wallet, you're a government employee? I'll have to notify your department that you've been detained-"

"Wait-" Leon tried.

"You should know better, what are you, CIA or something? Do they only hire pretty boys?"

"What?!" Leon couldn't get more than one word out.

"Now, knowing what I know about motorcyclists, if I let you go, you'll probably get lucky and kill yourself on your way home. I'd be willing to give you that chance, if you earn it." 

Leon could only stare, reeling from the cruel taunt. Heat rose to his cheeks when Officer Hughes not-so-subtly checked him out. 

"Yeah, I'll let you go." The cop said. "If you get on your knees and blow me." 

"Wh-?"

"You're even dumber than you look." Hughes snapped. He strode forward, grabbing a fistful of Leon's messy hair. "Get on your fucking knees, slut."

He couldn't help it, after all his years spent fighting, it was an instinct. He broke the officer's hold before swinging at him. He was fast, and hit hard. The cop staggered backwards as Leon reached for his gun, startled when he came up empty. Before his brain realized that he wasn't on a mission and therefore wasn't armed, his chest erupted in pain. He hit the ground stiffly, screaming when he was finally able to draw a breath. He'd been tased before, but it wasn't really something you could fight off.

"Assault on an officer now? Really rackin' em up, aren't you, princess." Hughes said. He came over, kicking Leon in the side. "Get up. I'm not taking the hooks out until you suck my cock."

Leon wheezed, trying to get his arms beneath him. He sat up, groaning when the officer slapped him across the face. His hair was grabbed again, yanked on until his nose was buried in Officer Hughes' crotch. He really didn't want to do this.

"I'll fucking fry you if you don't get your head in the game."

Leon shakily unbuttoned the cop's pants, pulling them down until a thick, heavy cock sprang out in front of him. He glanced to his side, wondering if anyone was going to try and stop the power hungry lunatic. There wasn't a soul in sight, the windows of the townhouses near them were dark, and no other cars turned down their road. Leon didn't have a choice. He frowned, opening his mouth and letting the officer's cock slide over his tongue.

God, the taste. He retched just thinking about it. Sweat and piss, the hairs coarse and stiff where they poked into his nose and chin. Disgusting. The way his knees had ached was memorable, too. They were dirty, bruised, and soaked through with mud, stuck uncomfortably to his jeans. He knew he needed to get cleaned up. He needed to lay down and cry, maybe even sleep before the sun came up, so he stood, slowly and carefully, and made his way into his bedroom. It wasn't difficult- the apartment was tiny. 

Leon stripped off his clothes, dumping them into a heap on the floor. As an afterthought, he picked up a different pile and slipped into them- sweats and boxers that he was pretty sure he'd worn the other day. Whatever. He collapsed on the bed, curling into the fetal position. He was in a situation that he never thought he'd encounter. He'd been raped by a cop. A dirty cop. One that had smacked him around and called him a teasing whore for choking on his cock.

It hurt a lot more than he expected it to. It wasn't the first time he'd been touched like that, not by a longshot. Sometimes, he played games with his Tinder hookups that followed a similar script, but this had an element that he hadn't explored before. The cop. The badge, the uniform, the gun, the absolute mockery of his own naivety. A slap in the face to throw him back into Raccoon City.

His chest tightened. What a joke. Blindly, breached for the drawer of his nightstand, pulling it open. His fingers dipped over the side, searching. They brushed against a little bottle of lube, knocking it gently aside. Next was a small handful of bobby pins, an eyeliner pencil, and a tube of lipstick. Finally, he found a little piece of photo paper. It was wallet sized, kept in a little laminate slip. His academy graduation photo, the only copy that still survived. He was dressed up in his Class A's, a barely-there smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He had been excited, thrilled at the prospect of finally getting to do some real police work. Growing up, he would hang on to every word his dad said, thrilled by the weird and wacky stories that the old sergeant brought home. Leon had wanted to be like that for his own kids.

It was too bad that his life had taken a hard left two weeks after the graduation ceremony. 

Little kid Leon, the boy who'd run in circles in his backyard, towel tied around his neck and arms outstretched, pretending to be superman, that was who he'd failed. He'd just wanted to help people, to make his daddy proud and set an example for his kids. He hadn't done any of it. The sight of a blue uniform made him sick to his stomach. He avoided cops as much as he could, going so far as to make Hunnigan converse with LEOs for him. 

Leon stared at the photo again, at the roundness of his face, the shine in his eyes, the short bangs and choppy hairs behind his ears. His mom had done that, too busy chatting on the phone to pay attention as she trimmed his curtains for him. He'd been secretly sore about it for a week. 

And now what? He set the photo aside. The biggest kick in the teeth yet. A cop treating him like dirt and jeering at him as cum splattered in his bangs. If his 21 year old self had seen that, he may have found the courage to eat a bullet in Raccoon, instead of sticking it out or whatever the hell he'd done to survive. He wasn't even sure if he could really call it that anymore. More than anything, he floated, merely existing alongside everyone else. He wasn't tangible, nothing solid left of him to reach out and touch. A ghost in the wind, being swept away by the current and drowned in a cacophony of a thousand more prominent voices. 

Putting his hand back into the drawer, he dropped the photo in place and brushed up against his gun. It was a 9mm, his backup. He kept it in the drawer in case of emergencies, but lately, he'd been staring at it too long and too often. Perhaps it was time to invest in a safe, though he doubted that would stop him if he was properly motivated. Like now.

Leon pulled it out, his eyes wandering over the barrel. He hadn't cleaned it in a while. Maybe he should. It wouldn't really matter though, would it. His finger brushed the trigger guard. It would be so easy to slip the business end into his mouth, squeeze his eyes shut, and pull…

"Easy, bud." He said to himself. He hated that he was so worked up just because a cop had smacked him around and used his mouth like a fleshlight. As if he hadn't been eyeing up the bouncer at the club and debating about offering him a blowjob in the bathroom. It was the same thing, wasn't it? Why did it sting so badly, then?

He knew why, he just didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to acknowledge the weird mix of envy and despair that had clogged up his brain when the cop had ordered him onto his knees. That could've been him. He instantly reprimanded himself. It wouldn't have- he would never do something like that- but the cockiness, the saunter, the hardened cop facade, that could very well have been his life, if it weren't for his obsession with the Arklay Murders. Officer Hughes had tainted the nobility of his brief venture into law enforcement. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was his own face, the same soft smile from his graduation photo.

He would puke again if he wasn't careful. 

Leon set the gun back in the drawer, closing it with a soft _thunk!_ He nestled deeper into his bedspread, burying his face in the pillow. Distantly, he wondered if he'd ever meet that cop again, if he would go further down the rabbit hole. He bit his lip. Maybe next week… 

Leon shivered at his own depravity. Was he that desperate to get laid? He was disgusted with himself. Even more so than before… at least he'd gotten out of the ticket. 

With one last dry, painful taste of irony, he began to drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Twitter @pointofdespair


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